


Passage

by AllieCat



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Entirely from John's POV, Gen, Other characters are just mentioned, Sad but a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllieCat/pseuds/AllieCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John stared down at his phone, re-reading every last text that the consulting detective had ever sent him. It hurt like nothing else he’d ever experienced before in his life. The searing pain of hot metal burning a hole in his shoulder had nothing on this. John had tried to convince himself that there was more to life than just sitting in the flat all day, that he should go out, go back to work, go anywhere really. He didn’t though, just sat there in Sherlock’s chair, his coat across his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passage

John stared down at his phone, re-reading every last text that the consulting detective had ever sent him. It hurt like nothing else he’d ever experienced before in his life. The searing pain of hot metal burning a hole in his shoulder had nothing on this. John had tried to convince himself that there was more to life than just sitting in the flat all day, that he should go out, go back to work, go anywhere really. He didn’t though, just sat there in Sherlock’s chair, his coat across his knees. It still smelt like him, still had a faint trace of his aftershave, of his shampoo and soap. John was almost frightened of handling it in case the familiar scent disappeared for good. He thought about his life, what he’d done, and where he’d been. Nearly killed in Afghanistan, not a single friend left. His own sister didn’t call him any more, not after he’d yelled at her to leave him alone three dozen times. Even Mrs Hudson seemed scared to talk to him. Sherlock was the only thing left, and now he was gone. He fiddled with the gun in his hand, feeling the cold metal against callused fingers. There was really nothing worthwhile left for him in this world, and he didn't see the point in staying, waiting around for a change that would never come. He just wanted it to be over, and to have Sherlock back.

Lestrade had taken him out to the pub a few times, but it wasn't the same without Sherlock there. Eventually the DI had become tired of his pitiful wallowing. John knew he was being stupid, he knew exactly how pathetic it made him look, but he couldn't seem to stop it. Nothing was the same an ymore. It seemed as though even the air he breathed had become thicker since Sherlock had left him. John had sat at that bloody grave, and begged a dead man to just not be dead. It was impossible, and eventually. Molly had text him a few times, but she was just as upset as John was. Talking to John wasn't worthwhile, even John himself thought so.

And then Mary came along. Sweet, beautiful, kind Mary Morstan. She was incredible, the most beautiful woman John had ever had the good fortune to know. She was blonde, and perfect, she was even shorter than John. For the first time in a very long time, seemed to be looking up for the fallen soldier. She hadn't even hesitated for a second when he proposed. They lived happily in a larger apartment on the other side of town, and were married within the year, but even that was ripped away from him.   
  
When you're a doctor, seeing the one you love more than anything else in the world so terribly ill was painful, and John couldn't do a thing to save her. For once in his life he was happy, truly happy. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, perhaps it was just horrendously bad luck. The two people he loved most had deserted him within a year of each other, and now he was left sitting completely alone, back in the flat where it all started. Perhaps moving back in hadn't been such a good idea, but he couldn't afford the flat he'd shared with Mary, and Mrs Hudson welcomed him back with open arms. It was better than the tiny bedsit he'd started in all those years ago.

So there sat John Hamish Watson, three years to the day that his best friend, his only friend took his own life. It was ironic really, that he would be considering such a permanent fix to what he'd been assured was a temporary problem, though it felt never ending. He twisted the wedding band on his finger, sliding it off and reading the inscription on the back. _My heart is yours -M.W_.

Mary wouldn't want this. Sherlock wouldn't want this. “Pull yourself together, John.” He muttered to himself, standing up slowly and placing the gun back in the safe. Now was not the time, tomorrow would come, if only he'd just hang on a while.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought!


End file.
